


The Learning Process

by merlywhirls



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Domestic Violence, Gen, talk of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlywhirls/pseuds/merlywhirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>modern au where Theon is put in hospital by his abusive boyfriend Ramsay</p><p>warning: domestic violence/abuse (not depicted but spoken about)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Learning Process

It has happened before, just never to this extent, but Theon knew that it was all his fault anyway. It always was, he always angered him and made him do this, and Theon just never learned. He never learned.

“I think you broke some!” He wailed in the car, clutching his hand to his chest, tears running down his face. He knew Ramsay hated it when he cried, but they wouldn’t stop coming out as his hand throbbed.

“You mean, _you_ broke some. This wasn’t my fault.” Ramsay replied calmly, not ever taking his narrowed eyes off the road before him.

Theon felt the blame on his shoulders, and knew that Ramsay was always right, it was always Theon’s fault. Even if it wasn’t Theon who slammed the car door on his own hand, it was still his fault.

Theon shrunk into the passenger chair, not saying a word.

 _Meek_.

This was the first time they’d had to go to the hospital for one of Theon’s accidents, and he was nervous about it. All the others could be patched up in the bathroom once Ramsay was asleep, or if Ramsay was feeling forgiving, he’d apply the ointments and bandages to Theon himself. When he did it, it was always so tender and gentle, stroking Theon and whispering to him.

“Just don’t do it again. Be better next time.” And Ramsay may even kiss him on the forehead.

Right now Ramsay looked calm and quite at peace, but Theon knew that never meant anything good. Behind the blank expression on his face, peeking underneath Ramsay’s human mask rested a coiling snake, hissing and spitting venom in the faces of those who dared look at him the wrong way. Theon’s stomach churned. He knew he was going to be punished for needing to go to the hospital.

It would be harder to explain this one, as it had become increasingly harder to come up with false stories about how he got his injuries. Some were easier than others; the bruises around his wrists, arms, and ankles were rope burn from his fishing boat. His blackened eye and jaw were from the boat’s slippery deck, the cuts and pinches on his skin were from the fishing hook snagging on their way to the sea.

“You must be the worst fisherman alive,” Jon Snow would jape. Theon would smile, agree.

There was never explaining the savage hickeys that pocketed his neck and collarbones, however, the ones that would bleed whenever he moved his head. Given their nature, most people don’t ask about them anyway.

Theon Greyjoy now owns a lot of turtleneck sweaters.

But it was always Robb Stark who would probe a little harder, asking in a sterner tone, Theon, how did you get those?

Theon, what really happened?

The last time Theon saw Robb was when it was just the two of them out fishing, and Robb had even asked, softly, Theon, is Ramsay hurting you?

And Theon tried to feign surprise at the question, but Robb’s expression did not harden, not even when Theon said, “Why on earth would Ramsay do something like that?”

Robb just looked like he was going to be sick.

When they arrive at the hospital, Ramsay even opens the door for Theon. He’s grateful; the shock of the injury has left his legs feeling like jelly and his uninjured arm is shaking so hard he’s getting cramps. Theon doesn’t think he would have been able to open the door if he wanted to.

 _Weak_.

Ramsay puts his arm around Theon’s shaking shoulders and walks him inside, and all Theon can think about is how there is a calm before the storm.

At the reception desk, Ramsay does all the talking, about how Theon wasn’t paying attention when he closed the car door on his own fingers.

“A silly accident,” Ramsay smiles at the receptionist, “he’s so clumsy, he does this all the time.”

At the x-ray, Theon sits alone while Ramsay smiles and laughs with the operator behind the plastic screen in the corner of the room. Light touches on the arm and easy smiles, that’s what Theon used to know too.

Theon gets a hospital bed while they wait for the results. The doctor told him that his fingers were most likely broken in some places, but that the x-ray would confirm.

Ramsay sits in the chair beside Theon’s bed, strokes the doctor’s arm and says, “Thank you so much for this.”

But the doctor doesn’t smile back, and Theon sees the mask slip. Venom.

Ten minutes later a nurse comes through, checks Theon’s pain score, and informs him that his emergency contact has been phoned. Ramsay is at the canteen, getting them lunch, so he does not hear this, but Theon panics.

“My emergency contact?” He asks the nurse. “But I have someone here with me.”

Panic bubbles in his throat. This would make Ramsay angry, and it would be Theon’s fault, and he’s already in trouble for breaking his fingers.

He grabs the nurse’s arm with his good hand. The nurse is taken aback, startled at the terrified look on Theon’s face. 

“Who is it?” He demands, shaking her arm weakly. “Why did you call someone to come?”

The nurse wretches her arm away from Theon’s grip, taking several steps back. “I don’t know who they’ve called. Your doctor told us to call your emergency contact, that’s all I know. Now if you would excuse me.”

The nurse leaves briskly, closing the curtains around Theon, leaving him disconnected and alone. His heart is pounding too hard against his ribs.

_They can’t come, no one can come, Ramsay will get angry at me, oh gods this is all my fault I should have made Ramsay my emergency contact to begin with, he’ll hate this, he’ll hate me…_

Through the curtains Theon can hear Ramsay talking to the nurse, discussing Theon’s hand and the accident.

“He’s just so clumsy,” Theon can hear him say, “he’s always fucking up and getting himself into these accidents. Just last month he fell down the stairs and sprained his ankle! He’s a freak, but he’s mine.”

 _Freak_.

That’s when Theon can hear the smack, a grunt of pain and a heavy collapse of a body on the floor. Theon knows these sounds, lives with these sounds in his ears, escaping his raw, broken throat. Theon knows that someone just hit Ramsay.

 _They can’t hit Ramsay, no one hits Ramsay, I’ll be punished for this, oh gods help me_.

Nurses and doctors are yelling, Ramsay is swearing violently and another, familiar voice is swearing back.

 _Shriek_.

 _Oh, it can’t be_.

Theon stumbles off the bed, drawing back the curtains and tentatively sticks his head out to see what’s happening.

Ramsay is pinned to the floor, his arms and legs struggling wildly as several nurses try to keep him still. A purple bruise is already swelling at his cheek, distorting his left eye. Towering over him is a built man with flaming red hair, his arms held back by doctors, curses flowing from lips.

The man looks up at Theon, and the curses stop.

“Are you okay?” Robb asks him.

Theon has gone deathly white, and only stutters, “What have you done?”

“He won’t touch you again,” Robb promises. “I won’t let him.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to fucking do!” Ramsay is screaming from the floor. “You leave Theon alone! He’s mine, and you won’t take him. Isn’t that right, Theon? You’re mine?”

Theon is about to nod, that yes he is Ramsay’s, and he’ll always be Ramsay’s (Ramsay’s what, he never knows), until Robb shrugs off the arms holding him back, and so gently, nudges and directs Theon away from the curtain, back to sitting on the bed.

Robb turns back to close the curtains, block them off from the darkness that creeps in Ramsay’s skin.

“You can’t fucking take him from me, Stark,” Ramsay spits, spraying venom. “He’s mine, he’s my _Reek_ , and I’ve broken him in. He’s mine!”

Theon will be Ramsay’s forever.

 _Bleak_.

Robb snaps the curtain shut, and Theon tries to block out the shouting from behind that thin veil.

Robb crouches in front him, slowly, reaching for Theon’s good hand, and holds it gently.

“It’s over, I won’t let you go back, even if you desperately wanted to.” Robb searches for Theon’s eyes, and Theon near flinches away when he finds them.

 _Weak_.

“No more,” Robb is saying, and Theon can only hear it in a distance. Like Robb is far away. Theon feels lighter, but he can’t tell why.

_No more?_

“You’re free.” Robb strokes his knuckles, and Theon forces a smile.

 _Free_.

No one is free from Ramsay, but for now, Theon tries to believe it, because Robb wants him to.

He doesn’t want to make Robb angry and have it be his fault. Theon knows.

He must learn his name.

 _My name is Reek_.

Or it’ll be his fault, and Robb will punish him, too.

 _It rhymes with freak_.


End file.
